


Cherry Wine

by januarywren



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Childhood Friends, Dark Hermione Granger, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Good Draco Malfoy, Head Boy Tom Riddle, Hermione Granger is a Good Friend, Hermione Granger-centric, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Jealous Tom Riddle, Light Angst, Manipulative Tom Riddle, Muggle/Wizard Relations, Multi, Obsessive Tom Riddle, POV Draco Malfoy, POV Hermione Granger, POV Tom Riddle, Pining Draco Malfoy, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Tom Riddle, Pureblood Culture (Harry Potter), Pureblood Society (Harry Potter), Sane Tom Riddle, Sleepy Cuddles, Slytherin Common Room, Slytherin Hermione Granger, Studying, The Restricted Section's Once Upon A Lifetime Fest, Threesome - F/M/M, Tom Riddle is Not Voldemort, Young Tom Riddle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:07:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24158587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/januarywren/pseuds/januarywren
Summary: “You have ink on your cheek, love,” Tom murmured, crouching beside Hermione. He cast a wandless spell, the ink fading from her skin. Her eyes fluttered open, softening as she saw who was near her. “Tom,” she whispered, before closing her eyes again."I'll take her to my room," Tom said, slowly gathering her into his arms. Her head rested against his shoulder, her dark curls cascading down her back. Draco moved to his feet and unbuckled the Mary Jane's from her feet.Hermione often spent her nights divided between the two; only sleeping in her own, private room when ill. Though when she’d come down with a nasty case of the cat flu, Draco had curled beside her, and read silly, muggle-born romances to her, that she would never admit to liking, while Tom brewed potions for her using Slughorn's lab. She was their witch, the only one that Tom or Draco would ever share.Maybe, she was always meant to be theirs.Canon AU | The Golden Trio never existed, in its stead are three, pining Slytherins.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy & Tom Riddle, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy/Tom Riddle, Hermione Granger/Tom Riddle
Comments: 83
Kudos: 836





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [Once_upon_a_lifetime_TRS](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Once_upon_a_lifetime_TRS) collection. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I saw the prompt: 'revising in the library/common room,' and couldn't write this fast enough! I'm so happy to be on summer vacation now, and I'm feeling much better (aside from daily migraines, yuck). 
> 
> Thank you for all the wonderful, kind messages and comments on here, and on Tumblr and Discord. You truly are the sweetest readers anyone could ask for! 
> 
> And to whoever suggested the prompt in the 'Once upon a lifetime' (TRS) challenge, I hope this fits what you were looking for! ❤❤

Draco heard low, familiar tones, and the coo of the maiden in the portrait before it swung open. “I didn’t think you would show,” Draco said, glancing up from his thick tome. There was never a shortage of books with Granger around, all of Slytherin knowing better than to rest their drink or prop their feet up on one. Draco was still smarting over the bottle of firewhiskey that she'd taken from him after he’d left it near her open textbook, and roll of parchment paper.

“What, and miss the show?” Tom asked, shrugging out from his cloak. The fire burned low in the grate, the Slytherin common room as cool as the winter winds outside their door. “Do you think so low of me, Malfoy?”

“Not anymore,” Draco admitted, far more truthful than he would have before. “Not with Hermione between us.”

They had known each other since they were boys, a tentative friendship forming between them. It made sense, given how often Tom’s grandfather met with Lucius at the manor, that he would bring the boy along. Tom was older only by a handful of months, though he had always been more than a foot taller. 

Tom’s mother was never well, as Draco's mother explained, the first time that Draco had come to her not wanting to share his new Quidditch broom. No one spoke openly about the Gaunt heiress, though Draco once overheard his parents' hurried whispers, about a filthy squib, and an obsession, and a favor that the boy's mother had used.

“ _The Gaunt boy shows apt ability_ ,” he heard his father say, “ _One that is more promising than our own son’s_.”

“ _What of his nature_?” his mother questioned, while Draco strained to hear her soft tones. “ _Does he - will he share his family’s nature_?”

“ _It’s impossible to say_ ," there was a fraught note of silence before Lucius admitted that he hoped the boy would stay. “ _He would make a fine companion for Draco, one that we cannot afford to ignore_.”

His nanny elf had caught him listening then, promptly taking him by the ear back to his room. There, Draco tossed and turned as his parent’s words rolled around in his head. “ _A half_ ,” Draco mumbled, “ _He’s only a half, where I’m pure_.”

And it was as if Tom knew that Draco knew something about him, the next time that he came to stay at the Manor. “ _What is it, Draco?”_

“ _What’s wrong with your mother_ ,” Draco had spit, something taut in his belly, “ _that she would lay with a squib_?”

It was then that Draco found Tom's wand at his throat, and his eyes were cold and cruel as he asked Draco to repeat what he'd said about his father. " _I-I'm sorry it was just a joke_ -“

“ _I’m not laughing_ , _Malfoy_.” Tom had replied, and the tentative friendship between them, the friendship that could have been, was broken like his mother’s favorite, priceless vase. He’d still visited after that, often staying in the manor, but nothing was the same again.

‘ _I shouldn’t find it necessary to remind you of his family_ ,’ Lucius wrote, the gracefully written letters carrying his ire. When his father was very, very angry with him, he would leave letters on Draco’s bed, not wishing to see him, ‘ _He has the blood of Salazar Slytherin himself running through his veins, a truth that you would be wise to remember, Draco_.’

Draco remembered watching from his bedroom window, as his father walked the grounds below with his former friend, even teaching him spells in the garden. He was the son that Lucius wanted, the one who would have made him proud. He still felt shame burn in his chest, at how his mother had found him with his favorite broom snapped in half, and his cheeks fiery red.

“Ah,” Tom’s lips curled into a smile. “Have you lost your fear of me, then?”

Hermione shifted in her sleep, mumbling as she nuzzled her cheek against his Oxford. Draco set the tome aside, before resting one hand the small of her back, and combed his fingers through her curls with the other.

“Slightly,” Draco admitted, knowing his father would take him by his tie and shake him if he heard. It didn’t matter, not when Tom held more power than his father did amidst the Slytherin House. And the others, if Draco was honest, Tom enormously popular amongst Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs. Only Dumbledore’s precious Gryffindors didn’t invite him near, not when they followed Saint Potter and the Weasel. “I find myself fearing a loss of our House points, though.”

Tom chuckled; the sound startlingly truthful.

Neither Slytherin had expected to share a fascination with the muggle-born that had burst into their train compartment, breathless and with her bushy curls affright, asking them if they had seen a little toad hop by? " _His name is Trevor_ ," she'd told them, with no fear in her caramel-colored eyes. " _He’s Neville’s familiar and must be found!”_

“ _Longbottom_?” Draco’s nose had wrinkled at the frumpy, witless boy that his mother had often invited to his birthday parties at the Manor. Neville had positively _wet_ himself after his father’s peacocks had chased him, and Draco had no doubt that he would end up in Hufflepuff. “ _Someone’s probably squished his familiar by now_ -“

(The thought of the mess on someone’s shoe made his stomach churn, though he’d wanted to laugh - or maybe something else, something that he didn’t want to put a name to - as the girl’s cheeks flushed red.)

“ _I’ll help you_ ,” Tom had interrupted, rising to his feet. “ _And Draco will too_.”

Draco’s head had jerked up at that, the first time that he’d heard Tom say his first name, ever since that disastrous day at the manor. “ _I will_?”

“ _You will_.”

That had been the start of something between them, an impossible, tantalizing whirl of possibilities as they found Hermione was very different from their own. She was a muggle-born, her heritage alone enough to make a certain word rise to his tongue -

He'd flinched, feeling blood drip down his cheek as Tom cast a wandless spell. He hadn't known what to say, what to think as the little muggle-born stopped looking for Trevor (what kind of a name was that for a familiar anyway?) and pulled out her handkerchief, and wiped his blood away.

It was nothing.

It was something, especially after she hurried down the hall when she heard a low ribbit, and Tom watched her go. “ _Why_?” Draco whined.

“ _She’s going to be something_ ,” Tom replied. “ _Someone. Don’t muck this up, Malfoy_.”

Draco found he missed the times that Tom would call him Draco.

They could have been brothers, they could have been friends, but they became something more as they both found themselves drawn to the muggle-born girl. Tom had watched her with interest during the Sorting ceremony, and both of them had their thoughts whirl when Hermione was declared one of their own.

If Hermione had been a Gryffindor, nothing could have happened -

But she was one of theirs; she was a _snake_.

Hermione shifted, resting her head on Draco’s knee as she slept.

“Crooks led me to the library earlier,” Draco said, amusement in his tone. Tom had raised his eyebrow when Hermione chose the ragged, half-kneazle as her familiar, while Draco intended to say something along the lines of whether she was sure she’d adopted a feline, and not one of the Weasley’s long lost siblings, until Crooks had butted his head against his hand, and purred.

“ _He likes you_ ,” Hermione cried, her cheeks tinging pink.

He’d fallen silent then, thinking how much sweeter Crooks was, compared to the snappish and rare peacocks his father bred. “She was fast asleep behind a pile of books taller than -“

“Taller than Hagrid?” Tom asked, his lips twitching upward.

They both knew what it took to coax Hermione from the library, Tom often whispering something suggestive in her ear, and wrapping his arm around her waist. She always crumbled then, while Draco would take her book from her, making her protest, until he said that he would teach her something new at Potions, or invited him to debate _one_ ‘ludicrous’ point of Pureblood society with him.

This was different though; her time in the library prompted by something other than bibliophile pleasure. No, something positively wretched had happened, Draco thought.

After Hermione scored lower than Tom and Draco on their recent Potions exam, she’d become convinced that she wasn’t studying enough. Hermione, the ‘greatest witch of her age’, as the professors often called her (aside from his godfather, Snape, who didn’t compliment anyone) wasn’t studying _enough_ -

Or rather, the two S’s weren’t “conductive” to learning - the two S’s standing for snogging and shagging, both frequent occurrences in their studying sessions.

“Almost,” Draco admitted.

They both knew how obsessive Hermione could become about her studies, the same as Draco could be about Quidditch or Tom -

As well as he knew his friend, Draco had only seen Tom become obsessed about one thing - one person - before: _Hermione_.

Ever since the Sorting Ceremony five years ago, they had been her constant company. Draco found what an excellent study partner Hermione made, especially in Care for Magical Creatures, when she encouraged him to make friends, and not enemies with Buckbeak. It was their days spent in the sun that made Draco see the smattering of freckles across her nose, and how small her hand was after she'd grabbed his hand before she could fall.

Nor was Tom left behind, as he claimed a place beside her at meals, and often accompanied her to study in the library. Draco had seen them there a handful of times, his heart stuttering when he saw Tom pin back her curls to keep them out of her eyes, and he gathered books for her that were high on the bookshelf.

Draco found too, that Tom softened in Hermione’s presence, and the tense history between them lightened too. He knew better than to bring up his family to Tom again, and the word that clung to the very tip of his tongue.

_Half-blood_.

Yet the very girl between them was no pureblood or even a half-blood, but a muggle-born that captivated them all. “ _You like her_ ,” Draco said to his friend, as they practiced on the Quidditch field together, something they hadn’t done in years. They were out early enough to have the field to themselves, dew still covering the ground.

“ _As do you_ ,” Tom had replied, pulling his Quidditch gloves on.

And that was how their relationship with Hermione started after they descended near Hermione, where she read a tome on the bleachers. Something had felt right between them, as she kissed them both; their hearts fluttering in tune.

“You have ink on your cheek, love,” Tom murmured, crouching beside Hermione. He cast a wandless spell, the ink fading from her skin. Her eyes fluttered open, softening as she saw who was near her. “Tom,” she whispered, before closing her eyes again.

"I'll take her to my room," Tom said, slowly gathering her into his arms. Her head rested against his shoulder, her dark curls cascading down her back. Draco moved to his feet and unbuckled the Mary Jane's from her feet.

Hermione often spent her nights divided between the two; only sleeping in her own, private room when ill. Though when she’d come down with a nasty case of the cat flu, Draco had curled beside her, and read silly, muggle-born romances to her, that she would never admit to liking, while Tom brewed potions for her using Slughorn's lab. She was their witch, the only one that Tom or Draco would ever share.

Maybe, she was always meant to be theirs.

“I’ll come with you,” Draco said, not wanting to let her go.

And Tom understood as he cast a warming charm over them. The dungeons could never be warm enough, though it was wonderfully sweet, with their witch between them. “I’m sorry,” Draco whispered, later, when Tom’s breathing had slowed, and his arm was curled around Hermione’s waist.

Without turning his head toward, him, Tom said, “I know, Draco.”

(He’d forgiven him in their fourth year when he saw how Draco made Hermione laugh, the melodic sound like nothing he had heard before, and longed to hear again, and again.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chat with me: https://januarywren.wixsite.com/januarywren 🌹 
> 
> https://januarywren.tumblr.com/ 🌹
> 
> and ask for me my discord! 🌹
> 
> Beta'd by quitethesardonic and weestarmeggie! 🦝🖤


	2. II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your comments on chapter one were so, so nice! Thank you everyone, they were lovely to read. 🤗❤ 
> 
> This chapter is Tomione focused, though they're still a triad - if I add another chapter, it'll focus on Dramione, with a little Tomione too. I hope everyone is staying safe and your friends/families too! ❤❤

“Was this a favorite of yours?”

Tom held the slim softcover in his hand, holding it high above her head.

She felt a surge of protectiveness over her childhood treasure, and annoyance flickered across her features. She knew that Tom would never harm one of her books, not like Crabbe or Goyle would, but _still_ \- 

“You know that it was,” Hermione corrected, crossing her arms, “since you’ve insisted on going through my things, every time holiday ends.”

It was something that he had always done; every time they came back to Hogwarts, no matter the warding spells she used. After a startling first year, Hermione grew used to the sight of Tom sitting on her bed, rifling through her charmed bag, or bringing something up later, that he’d taken from the wooden, hope chest in her room. He’d scowled when she compared him to a raccoon. He hadn’t talked to her for three weeks after that, though Draco had.

And in the end, Draco had helped bring the silent treatment to an end, knowing how stubborn both of them were. It’d taken a box of Honey Duke’s chocolates and three copies of the newest Potion magazine to bring them together, as they crowded into the common room, and spent the night there. Hermione had curled between the two of them, Tom tentatively entwining his fingers through hers, while Draco rested his head against her shoulder.

“ _Goodnight Tom_ ,” she’d whispered, the words sweet on her tongue, “ _Goodnight Draco_.”

(Privately, she thought that Tom’s hands were far prettier than greedy, little paws, especially when he stood behind her and corrected the way that she held her wand. His fingers were warm as they held hers, and for once she’d said nothing, as he helped her.)

He brought the book closer to her, before drawing it open to the sole bookmarked page. It was one that she had often read as a child when everything was new, and magic was tantalizingly bright. “There should be a place where only the things you want to happen, happen,” Tom read, and Hermione said.

“How eloquent.”

_How pedestrian_ , Hermione heard. For all that Tom read her childhood books, and often questioned her about the muggle world, she knew that he would never be apart of it, not truly. Draco was more taken with her other world than Tom was, as excited about the cinema and Monopoly than Tom was. Sometimes Hermione thought that if she had no relationship with Tom, he would turn his back entirely on the muggle world at large.

Her stomach twisted tautly at the thought, and her toes crossed in her woolen socks. No, she decided, she didn’t want that to happen at all. For there were thoughts she had, ones of other students like her, and the divide between the two worlds. Tom influenced their House like no other did and could make things miserable for the rest of the muggle-borns.

Yet there was another thought too, one that hid in her heart, of a time that would come when Tom met her parents and held her ring clad hand in his. It was the thought of a silly girl - well, thoughts, really; of her knitting him a scarf, one long enough that they could share, and touring the neighborhood that she’d grown up in. She wanted to show hi the great oak tree that she’d always read beneath, and the small, corner shop that served the best ice cream. She wanted him to know the world that she came from, the same as Draco yearned to.

These were thoughts that she would never admit to, the kind of girlish dreams that Hermione never listened to her classmates whisper about. She only had to spend one class with Lavender Brown or Parvati Patil to know that she was nothing like them, and had no wish to be. She was Hermione Granger, muggle-born witch, and know-it-all swot, whose wrist had dislocated from her constant hand waving. (More than once, actually.)

That was who she was, and who she was proud to be.

“Are you sure you weren’t meant for Gryffindor, Hermione?” Tom asked, raising his eyebrow.

Only she heard the teasing note in his voice, one that the peers hurrying past would never hear.

Even if it was, Slytherins rarely approached them in their House quarters, knowing full well that Hermione was _his_. She had learned that in their second year after Theodore Nott had kissed her on a dare. A month later, he'd run to see Poppy after experiencing delusional fits, when he babbled about a monstrous snake that ached to devour his legs and snapped his wand in fear. No one had known what plagued their classmate so, but Hermione had.

“ _It was Tom, you know_ ,” she told Draco, as they were tucked away in the library, in the window seat they always shared. Draco made her laugh, as he lay with his head in her lap, and ‘purred’ when she combed her fingers through his hair. (It was an easy way to wake him up after all; one, sharp tug on his platinum ends would make him jerk awake; a grievous offense during their study sessions). “ _He was the one who hurt Theo_.”

It hadn’t taken her long to come to that conclusion, though Hermione had hesitated at confronting Tom immediately. It was the first time she had felt uncertain, never afraid of hexing him when he relaxed her curls for her or tried to coax her into flying with him when they were younger. She knew that her House mates were right when they said she could be as brash as any Gryffindor, though she _knew_ she was smarter than any of them by far.

Draco had been as quiet as a mouse, quite unlike the feline she often referred to him as. “ _I know_ ,” he admitted, turning his face against her knee. His lips tickled her skin as he whispered, “ _He was mad that you kissed him_.”

“He _kissed me_ ,” Hermione corrected. Draco had been there, and the rest of the Slytherins too, as Theo had kissed her in the common room. Yet Draco said nothing, as he knew that it didn’t matter to Tom, who had kissed who.

She was theirs, after all, though it wouldn’t become official before their sixth year.

“There’s a page you might like,” Hermione said, stretching on the tips of her toes to near Tom’s chin. Her fingers entwined around his tie, tugging him closer to her. It was a closeness that Tom allowed her alone, one of the few things she knew he reserved for her, and her alone. “A line that you ought to hear, Tom.”

His arm wound about her waist, pressing her closer still. She felt the hard lines of his chest, and his hand on the small of her back. This was what she wanted from him, the same as she knew that he needed it from her.

Closeness - trust - the sheer intimacy of it all never something either put a name to.

She knew the games that Tom played, irresistible words dripping from his silver tongue, and his dark eyes a faux window into his soul. She knew Tom as well as she knew Draco, yet sometimes she thought she knew Tom most of all.

“Is there, love?” he asked, his voice low.

She nodded, her curls brushing against his fine robes. “And Max, the king of all wild things, was lonely and wanted to be where someone loved him best of all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chat with me: https://januarywren.wixsite.com/januarywren 🌹 
> 
> https://januarywren.tumblr.com/ 🌹
> 
> and ask for me my discord! 🌹
> 
> Beta'd by Grammarly! 🦝🖤


	3. III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so close to 200k+ views on my work, and it's just incredible to consider! 😭❤ Thank you all so much for supporting my work. Every kudos, comment, bookmark, etc. is so exciting to receive, and I love hearing from all of you!
> 
> The coming months will be very busy for me, now that I'm on summer holiday, writing-wise. I've been entering contests and can't wait to share some exciting news - but for now, my holiday is filled with plans to update stories, and enter more contests! I'm participating in two fests this month too, one being the tomione smut fest, hosted by weestarmeggie! 🤗❤ 
> 
> I want to give back for reaching 200k views, and would love to know your ideas - should I open up fic requests? Do a give away? Leave a comment or send me a DM on Tumblr/Discord, let me know your thoughts! ❤❤ Thank you all so much again, and take care.

“Are you alright, Granger?” Draco asked, watching in bemusement as the witch flitted around him.

Gods above, she would make a terrible nurse, he thought, after her curls had covered his face when she adjusted his pillows, and how she'd nearly kneed him in the groin when she leaned across him to check his temperature. He felt more than a small amount of relief when the pain potion made him sleepy, and his eyes drooped closed.

Now, his witch sat in a chair beside his bed, furiously scribbling on the parchment paper that she balanced on her knees. “Granger?” Draco asked again.

“O-Oh,” Hermione glanced upward, her concentration broken. “I’m fine. But - I should be asking you that, shouldn’t I?”

Regret crossed her features, and Draco felt a twinge in his chest, suddenly wishing that he hadn't teased her after all. "Never mind that," he said, "You're going to tear through the paper if you don't stop attacking it."

Hermione bristled at that, and Draco felt himself smile.

Their witch never changed, did she?

“I’m just,” Hermione blew an errant curl off her face,” I’m taking some notes.”

“Oh? Are you going to follow in Poppy’s place, then?” Draco asked, raising his brow. He often felt playful around Granger, despite the fact that he was in a gray, patient’s robe. (A Malfoy was always a Malfoy, regardless of the clothing that they wore.) “Did she tell you to take notes about a sleeping man?”

Her gaze skidded away from his, “I’m just -“

He leaned forward, the scratchy sheets covering the infirmary bed irritating his skin. He knew that she was hiding something, and had a good idea of what it was; if he knew the bleeding heart that his witch had.

“About your injured _boyfriend_ , Granger?” her cheeks tinged pink, and he knew that she was trying not to make a sharp retort. She was too easy to tease, Draco thought as his hands reached for hers, and stilled her writing hand. “What are you actually doing, Hermione?”

Humor was thick in his voice, as well as a trill of curiosity. He could never resist badgering her to tell him her thoughts and her fears, and anything else that rolled around in her brain. She never stopped thinking, far worse than Flitwick when he was on one of his speeches about the ethics of charms, or Dumbledore when he was praising one of his Gryffindors. However, unlike with the former, Draco never minded Hermione’s excitement.

Slowly Hermione lowered her knees, allowing the parchment paper to flutter to the floor. "I was just -," she hesitated a moment before her eyes met his. "I was adjusting my schedule to fit yours."

He cocked his head to the side, studying her as his father often did when he studied his peacocks. "Why?"

“Prat,” Hermione said, though her tone lacked its usual bite. “”You know why - Dumbledore, he saw Potter attack you, and didn’t even deduct House points!”

“Weasel was there too,” Draco added. “Potter couldn’t have caught me off guard on his own.”

It was one of the rare times when Draco was without Tom or Hermione for company, his Herbology class separating the group. He’d been tending to his own patch of screeching shrubs and thorny flowers when the pair had come upon him (was it any surprise that the Weasel and Saint Potter had destroyed their own gardens?) intending to take his plants as their own. Wands had been drawn and Draco had lost, something that he had little intention of writing his father about.

Still, Draco was smug in the knowledge that neither boy had taken his plants as their own, as they had moaned to Dumbledore about failing their class. “ _However, will we get into Auror training, if we’ve failed Herbology_?” Draco thought, his mocking tones replacing Potter’s own whiny tone.

His fingers entwined through Hermione’s, allowing him to gently rub her knuckles. “What are we, Hermione?” he asked, his tone patient, and eyes knowing.

“It shouldn’t matter -“ she started, using the same tone that she had in their first year, when Dumbledore took away their House points and gave them to the Hufflepuffs instead on an ‘ _impossible_ ’ technicality. Hermione had been ready to march down to the Headmaster’s office herself, if Tom and Draco hadn’t dragged her to the library instead, and showed her how to slip into the Restricted Section.

“What are we?” he repeated, ignoring her outburst.

Hermione sighed, her shoulders hunching forward. “We’re snakes.”

“And what are they?” Draco coaxed, in a soft tone that few would believe him capable of.

“Dumbledore and McGonagall’s cubs,” Hermione replied, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip. “Gryffindors who can do anything, while Slytherins can do nothing.”

“Oh, we can do _something_ ,” Draco leered, and her cheeks darkened; both knowing the hickeys that covered her neck and her chest, beneath her robes. He and Tom often marked her very skin as their own, lavishing her with greedy tongues and pleasuring fingers. “But Hermione -“

He brought their hands to his cheek, pressing her hand there. “You can’t be with me every day, all day,” he said, continuing before she could interrupt him. “I’m not a first year anymore, and neither are you, or Tom.”

“I want you to be safe,” Hermione said, swallowing tautly. “What if they get you alone again?”

"They will," Draco conceded. He knew how stubborn Gryffindors were, after all, and just how much common sense they often lacked. "I'll draw my wand faster, and beat them next time because I'll have a better teacher Lockhart."

She stopped short, her fingers trembling then.

“Draco -“

“ _Two_ teachers, in fact,” Draco stressed.

“You’ve thought about this,” Hermione said, her pretty eyes widening, and her mouth made an ‘O’.

Draco nodded, his lips curving into his trademark smile. "I was here for a few hours before Poppy told anyone," he admitted, "I couldn't wank with her near, could I?" Hermione swatted his shoulder at that.

“Don’t be crass,” she said, and his smile widened. She was too easy to tease, and far too easy to know, no matter how many times he or Tom had tried to ‘school’ her into being like them. Her emotions were always honest on her face, the same as her words were always earnest. Their witch was always, and wonderfully the same.

“Besides, you weren’t here,” Draco continued, squeezing her hand. “So, I took the time to think, and I,” he swallowed then, uncertain, no matter how sure the words felt on his tongue. “I want to try dueling again.”

It had been too painful before when he and Tom were on the outs with one another.

He could never draw his wand faster than Tom, nor could he counter the spells that his ambitious friend turned not quite enemy used. The memory still burned about the day his father had come to see them duel, and Draco had lost after the third spell that Tom used.

Draco had never opened the letter his father sent after, instead burying it inside his wooden chest, despite his persistent dream of burying it deep within Forbidden Forest, where _no one_ would ever find it. He couldn’t stand it if anyone did.

Draco had never dueled with Tom again, Hermione taking his place instead. They were evenly matched, while Draco had made himself content with dueling Crabbe and Goyle, even Nott or Zabini on occasion. But now -

Things were different between them. Everything was.

Hermione squealed in excitement, her hand squeezing his. She had often asked him to practice with her, even offering to teach him some things in exchange for her riding on a broom with him, but Draco had never accepted. His embarrassment and humiliation at Tom's hands was something that he hadn't forgotten, and he hadn't wanted Hermione to humiliate him too. She never would have, he knew, but still -

He batted the thoughts away, the action more like Hermione's familiar Crookshanks when he was offered a tin of cheap tuna than Draco wanted to admit to.

“Will you practice with me?” Draco asked.

“Yes!” Hermione replied, immediately launching into the schedule she’d made, one that she could amend to include their practice. She would make a lesson plan too, and -

“And you?” Draco said, his eyes finding the man’s in the doorway.

“Of course,” Tom replied, his dark eyes warmer than they’d ever been before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	4. IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, hello! 🤍
> 
> It's been a minute since I updated this, and I thought that I would add another chapter to it. 
> 
> It's a bit steamier than previous chapters, featuring a jealous!Tom and a Hermione that doesn't know what she's gotten herself into (oh dear, lol). Hermione's simply trying to be a good friend, and not attempting to make anyone jealous...🌺
> 
> Thank you for reading, I hope that you and your friends/family are staying safe! If you need someone to talk to, I'm here for you - I'm especially active on Discord and Tumblr. Feel free to reach out! 🤍🤍

“Hermione?”

“Yes, Tom?” Hermione asked, her attention drawn from the friendly toad on her desk, to her curious lover.

His arms drew around her waist, as he pulled her flush against his chest. His very touch made her shiver, and she breathed in his scent; a warm, crackling fire that entwined with cinnamon and cloves and the heartbreak of a student that assumed they could pull him away from his established trio.

No one had come close, Hermione less than amused by Cormac’s attempts to flirt with her, while Draco had hexed Pansy for interrupting them while they studied. And Tom -

Tom could cut someone’s hopes down around them with a few, polite words, and an offered handkerchief when they inevitably burst into tears. He was never harsh, and always courteous, but Draco whispered that Tom enjoyed rejecting their peers more than anyone would ever know. (“ _Tom relishes their shame more than you enjoy sugar quills, and I, Mother’s sticky toffees_ ,” were Draco’s exact words. " _Tom enjoys things that no one else does_.")

“Why is there a toad in your room?” Tom asked, his tone light enough that if anyone overheard, they would think he was almost -

Playful.

Hermione tilted her head upward, brushing her lips against his jaw. “His name is Trevor,” she murmured, knowing far better than the others. “He’s Neville’s familiar, don’t you remember?”

There was no one that she knew more than Tom, a fact that even Draco agreed with. She never feared him as others did, nor felt uneasy in his presence, knowing exactly what simmered beneath his cold, and polite veneer.

He felt more than anyone knew and dreamed far more than he would ever admit to.

“He’s still alive?” Tom asked, his eyebrow lifting.

Hermione made a strangled sound as if she were caught between amusement and mock indignation. "Yes, he is," she said, "despite Nagini snapping at him, and Athena chasing him around the common room! Really Tom, don’t you feed Nagini? She almost caught Trevor twice!”

Tom chuckled despite himself, a genuine sound that was reserved only for Hermione. Draco’s familiar, a raven with brilliantly green eyes was never far from Nagini’s side. The last member of their trio, a cankerous, half-kneazle was often with them too, causing all of Slytherin to mind where they stepped.

If they didn’t, they often found Crookshanks swiping at their ankle, or Athena drawing blood from where she pecked them. Nor would Nagini allow herself to be outdone, as she remembered the slights against her or the others, and would curl beside the instigator at night, squeezing their arm until it was colored black and blue in the morning, and the witch or wizard found themselves unable to lift their wand.

(Nor could Miss Pomfrey convince the Board to have the trio’s familiars’ put down, as the wizarding world never interfered with a witch or wizard and their familiar. It was a sacred relationship, one that was never broken…no matter how many incidents Pomfrey reported.)

“And I suppose Crookshanks was away - catching mice in the library, or curled up with McGonagall?” Tom teased, amused at how the gorgeous witch in his arms bristled.

“It’s Professor McGonagall,” Hermione retorted, both of them knowing how she favored the Transfiguration professor, despite the professor’s love of Gryffindors. Draco often teased her for paying rapt attention McGonagall, as if she was enraptured by her -

Something that wasn’t true, at all.

"And yes," Hermione said, nipping at Tom's jaw. "He's guarding the essay I left behind after Neville asked me to watch Trevor for him. Snape has him cleaning the cauldrons again -"

“I suppose Trevor couldn’t help Longbottom with that,” Tom said wryly, “though imagine Snape’s face if he tried.”

Hermione giggled, despite the unkindness toward her Gryffindor friend.

Everyone knew how inept Neville was at Potion’s, and there was no love lost between Neville and their scowling Potion’s Professor. (It was widely said that Snape spent more on replacing the cauldrons that Neville ruined than the rarest of ingredients, including the Unicorn hair and Thestral’s breath that he could only afford to order once every four years.)

“Neville showed me some venomous plants he’s cultivating in the greenhouse,” Hermione said, feeling as though she should defend her friend. “Professor Sprout is quite proud of him, and gave him a private space to grow his creations -“

As Hermione spoke, Tom moved to seat her on her desk, with Trevor hopping away toward her bed. Tom took the seat before her, resting his head on her thigh as she wound her fingers through his dark hair. “Have you been to see it?” Tom asked abruptly.

“Neville’s garden?”

“Mhm,” Tom said, his eyes lifting to meet hers.

There was something in his expression that Hermione couldn’t name, and her brow furrowed at the sudden change in his mood. "Of course," she said, "He's growing such rare things there! Really, Tom, you would be awed to see it - he has a thatch of Venus flytraps that can snap a wand in half! Neville plans to give Professor Snape some cuttings for Samhain -"

“Lovely,” Tom murmured, as he nuzzled her thigh.

Her cheeks darkened as she watched him, butterflies flitting inside her. Whether she was dressed before Tom or not, she always felt exposed as if he knew that she ached to have his head buried between her legs -

Or anywhere, really, as Hermione longed for his touch.

And Draco’s -

Gods, she was shameless.

Her mother had never encouraged her to read romances as a child, as if she feared Hermione would take to the idea of becoming a princess, dreaming only of her golden-haired prince, or knight in shining armor. There was a reason why Hermione hadn’t written to her parents yet, divulging her choice of lovers; nor would she, until they were engaged. There was a shame that she pushed away as if she could ever feel that the love the triad shared was _wrong_ -

Her mother would say that it was, and her father, well, Hermione had little idea of how he would react. She felt as shame trickled beneath her skin, making words rise to her tongue, that she never wanted to say. She wanted to hold both of her lovers close, not push them away.

And there was a part of her that realized, as all muggle-borns did, that her parents would never understand her place in the wizarding world. How could they, when they thought her bursts of magic as a child were merely delusions or an imagination that had gotten out of hand? They were far from fanciful creatures themselves, two hard-working, and practical dentists that never dreamed outside of what was before them.

Hermione remembered still, the looks her parents had given one another when the Transfigurations’ professor came to their home, with a letter in hand for a Miss Granger, one inviting her to an entirely new world.

No, there was a part of her life that her parents would never know, nor would they understand. She didn’t blame them for it, no, she never would, as she smiled at the memory of baking healthy snacks with her mother and riding on her father's shoulders during a parade. She only hoped they would respect her choices when she told them the truth.

Yet at that moment, Hermione found herself beyond caring, as she cupped Tom’s cheeks in her hands. There was a tenderness between them that no one knew, one expressed through sweet caresses, and thoughts that left little room for anyone, besides their golden friend, and lover.

“You aren’t jealous, are you?” she asked, remembering what Draco had said before. (“ _We want all of you, Granger, just as you have all of us_. _There will never be room for anyone else, you see_.”)

“Jealous?” Tom asked, his dark eyes meeting hers. He could hide his thoughts from anyone that he wished, his Occlumency skills unmatched by the entirety of the school. “Why would I be jealous of Longbottom?”

It was his voice that he could never hide from Hermione, as she caught the lilt of annoyance beneath his honeyed tone. She’d known him too long and too closely for him to hide all of himself from her, the same as Draco could never hide his feelings from her for long. It was the same in turn, as Hermione bared her soul to them, showing the best and worst parts of herself.

“Neville,” Hermione corrected, nibbling on her plump bottom lip. Her lover watched the movement attentively, just as she knew that he would. He often reveled in what she could do with her mouth, coming undone by it more than once, to her delight. “Won’t you say his name, Tom?”

And Tom smiled despite himself as if he were a wolf with glistening canines exposed. He knew that Hermione reveled in making him feel as if he were a normal man with the blood of any muggle running through his veins. He was more and he was less in her arms; something that would never change -

For there was a reason why Hermione found herself in Slytherin, despite being bolder than most of her kind.

She could be as childish as any girl, marveling at the sight of a Patronus, the same as she could tease her lovers without mercy. She had little idea of all that she could do, and all that she did, causing chaos in the wake of her innocence. It was little wonder that Longbottom was entranced by her, neither To nor Draco blind to his simpering looks, and how he followed her, wherever she went.

_(“I’ll hex him until he can’t walk straight,”_ Draco muttered _._

_“Oh? Won’t you run off and tell your father about Longbottom instead?”_ Tom had teased him, his tone wry _.)_

Longbottom would never know her as they did, nor would he ever be able to handle her. Tom drew his hand beneath her skirt, stroking her thigh. “I would rather say your name,” Tom murmured, turning his head to press his lips against her hand.

“Oh,” Hermione said, her breath hitching.

They never could resist each other, not after their triad was made real.

There was a hunger inside them all, a desire that demanded its fill, as Draco and Tom lavished pure ecstasy upon their witch. They were obscene with their touches and their words, relentlessly marking her as theirs, the same as she demanded to mark them as her own.

It would have been too much and too little for anyone other than themselves, it would have devoured the brightest Hufflepuff, the keenest Ravenclaw, and the fiercest of Gryffindors. And no other snake would have submitted themselves, as the trio did to their passion, as if they knew it would devour them whole.

There would never be another for any of them, their very essences tied around the others. It was the will of man, and the right of magic that brought them together, and fate was rarely known to change its mind.

“We can’t,” Hermione murmured, “Not with Trevor here.”

Tom flashed her a lazy, crooked smile that made butterflies flit inside her chest. She would never let Tom know just how much she felt his allure, more so than she felt Draco’s. If they hadn’t been lovers, they would have never been friends; for Hermione saw how others wanted Tom, and would have never allowed herself to be like them. She would have rather been his rival than part of his simpering followers, the same as she would never act like Parkinson did, toward Draco. As it was, she had them both -

With little intention of giving either up.

“You know that I’m a wizard, don’t you, Hermione?” Tom teased, “And you’re a witch, both of us perfectly capable of sending Trevor away - unharmed,” he added, seeing the words that were ready to spring from her pink lips,” until we’re through unless you'd prefer for him to watch."

Hermione’s blush furiously deepened at that, even though she shook her head. “He’s Neville’s familiar!" she exclaimed, and Tom chuckled as if he’d forgotten.

“As Nagini, Athena, and Crookshanks are ours -“

“I don’t want anyone to hear us,” Hermione said, sweet indignation dripping from her lips. “Or seeing us for that matter, except -“

“Draco?”

Hermione huffed, knowing that he had her there.

There were times when Tom buried his head between her legs and made her cry out his name, while Draco lay beside them, while other times Draco would whisper filthy things into her ear, as he took her while she was on her hands and her knees, and Tom took himself in hand.

They had a streak of voyeurism that added to their ecstasy, though there were times when Hermione was caught between her lovers; one entering her from the rear, while the other lay beneath her and lapped at her clit, while she pleasured him in tandem, with her mouth. Or they would have her seated between them, one claiming her ass, and the other her cunt; each of them lost in their pleasure. They were shameless with their desires and greedy for one another.

Yet there were times when Hermione lay with only one of them, tender kisses and honeyed words spilled between them. It was the closest the three came to love, as they held the other in their heart and their soul. It was a bond that no one outside of them would understand, a bond that none of them cared to explain. They were in a world of their own, one they never longed to abandon. Was it any wonder then, that others envied them?

And Tom, as amused as he was, took mercy on his love by casting a wandless spell over Longbottom’s familiar, before reminding Hermione just how talented he was -

With his wandless magic, _and_ his silver tongue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chat with me: https://januarywren.wixsite.com/januarywren 🌹 
> 
> https://januarywren.tumblr.com/ 🌹
> 
> and ask for me my discord! 🌹
> 
> Beta'd by Grammarly! 🦝🖤


End file.
